


Wherein Karkat becomes a Rainbow Drinker, and Dave makes sure he stays fed

by GemmaRose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Rainbow Drinker Karkat, Rainbow Drinkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Karkat was the one who was killed and resurrected by Eridan's White Science?</p>
<p>Inspired by amarantto's Feedingtime AU, which I sadly cannot link to because their blog is a blank white page :/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Even now, almost half a sweep since you began this journey, you don’t quite understand what happened in the hours leading up to the Meteor’s departure from the Green Sun. The last thing you clearly remember is Eridan blasting the Matriorb, and then… a blur of motion and colour, blinding light, total darkness, hunger which became a thirst so powerful it still makes your throat ache to think about it. Then stumbling through the lab, a fight, screaming until the heartbeats around you slowed.

Your first clear memory after Eridan blew up the Matriorb is of waking up in Gamzee’s arms, Terezi hovering over you caught between relief and rage. You can remember the taste of Gamzee’s blood if you try, thick and sweet and syrupy, as if he was bleeding faygo instead of blood. Logically you know his blood hasn’t changed, it’s your mouth that’s different, but the idea of your former Moirail bleeding shitty soda is somewhat amusing. It fits him, somehow, even if he’s no longer the slime-eating nimrod you were pale for.

Your stomach growls, and you wince as you automatically press your hand to it. Even now, the skin which has grown to cover your regenerated organs is more tender than the rest of your body. It makes some sense, if of a twisted sort. You haven’t properly fed in almost a perigee, ever since breaking it off with Gamzee. Raw meat is palatable, but even just thinking about sinking your teeth into someone’s neck is giving you chills. You’ll never ask, of course. You’re a Knight, you’re supposed to protect them with your aspect of Blood, not take it from them for your own gain. You may be healing slower than you’d like, but if raw meat means you don’t have to endanger any of your shipmates, you’ll eat it gladly.

\---

You groan and bury your face in your pillow. Two perigees now since you’ve fed properly. Older Maryam was happy to tell you everything you never needed to know about Drinkers, like how the blood of a friend is more satisfying than the blood of a stranger, the blood of someone who wants to be in a Quadrant with you is preferable to either, and the blood of a Quadrant Mate is the best of all. She did also have some relevant information to give, like why Drinkers were so uncommon on both your worlds and why their victims never lived to tell the tale. How long an adult Drinker can go without feeding, and what the consequences are for not consuming blood regularly.

Drinkers can go sweeps without blood if need be, though they lose their glow and strength and speed and heightened senses. Next to her, it’s obvious your glow is dimming, but nobody else has noticed so it’s alright. And until you stop being able to tell who’s where by your sense of smell, you shouldn’t need to feed at all. No need to risk hurting your friends when you can survive on food like a normal troll.

\-----

At three perigees since breaking it off with Gamzee, you notice the wound has stopped healing all together. You’re not in any danger of bleeding out, you’re very much healed enough to avoid that, but the skin is still oddly sensitive. You’ve never been more glad of your oversized sweaters. Glowing is also harder now, and you have to concentrate to get even a little bit of luminescence where you once had to consciously turn it off, but that’s okay. There aren’t any predators here to scare off, so the glowing was really more a nuisance than anything else.

A few days after you come to these realisations, you’re lying on your respite slab when someone knocks at the door. You turn over to glare at the unmarked metal panel, as if the Human on the other side will feel the heat of your gaze. “I don’t want to talk, Strider.” you growl as threateningly as you can manage.

“So?” he grins easily, entering and leaning against the door when it whooshes shut behind him. “I’m not here to talk.”

“Oh really.” you scowl, sitting up and crossing your arms and legs. “Then what the flying fuck are you doing in my respite block?”

There’s a flicker, just barely faster than your eyes can track, and Dave’s God Tier pyjamas are replaced with black skinny jeans and a white tank top bearing his signature scratched record. Your eyes basically stop at the wide collar though, and you look away with what must be the most stereotypical grumpy embarrassed late-wiggler scowl ever. Somehow, you’re not surprised he’s the one to come and offer himself up as a sacrificial lamb. “I won’t hurt you, Strider. Just go.”

“Nope.” he saunters over, and you almost shudder. It’s been ages since you were this close to anybody, and your jaw aches at the smell of his blood. There’s so much of it, so close to the skin, barely protected by the thin membrane at his neck. You take a breath through your mouth and give him your meanest glare.

“Strider, I’m not in the mood for this shit. Get the fuck out of my block.”

He stops at the foot of your respite slab, and you can hear his heartbeat so clearly your mouth starts to water. You dig your fingers into your pants around the knees, doing your best to control your Drinker instincts. His heart is speeding up now and you snarl at him, skin brightening slightly. It ought to be shining bright as daylight, but you haven’t fed in so long your glow is all but out. You’re trembling, forcing down the instinct to feed with every fiber of your being. He sits down next to you, and you glare at his shades as venomously as you can.

“Strider, get out.”

“No.” he crosses his arms, and you get the feeling that behind those shades he’s giving you a judgemental look. Okay, you haven’t been looking so hot lately, but what the fuck does that matter?

“Go, before I fucking grief you out of here.”

“Dude, I was talking to tattooed Maryam the last time we passed through one of those dream bubbles, and she said if you don’t get your shit together you could actually die. Like, for real.” he seems genuinely concerned, but it’s impossible to tell with his shades on.

You bare your teeth at him briefly, and have to remind yourself to breathe through your mouth as you turn so your back is to him. He’s completely unruffled. You can hear his heart beating steadily, and it’s going to drive you mad with thirst if he doesn’t get the fuck out right. Fucking. Now. “I’m fine, Strider.” you snarl as best you can without inhaling through your nose. “Now get the fuck out of my block before I rip out your throat.”

“Dude, you’re nowhere near fine.” he grabs your shoulder and turns you to face him. “I’m here, all but literally offering my blood up on a silver goddamn platter, and you’re not biting. The fuck is wrong with you?”

You forget to breathe through your mouth, and the smell of his blood is enough to make you dizzy. “Out.” you hiss, shoving at his chest. “Get the fuck out of my block Strider, or I’ll cut your fucking throat. You’re not my Moirail, so don’t come in with this fucking save-me-from-myself cluckbeast shit.”

You get up and open the door, then give Dave a pointed look. It’s a small miracle you can even stand, given how close you just were, but you manage to keep your legs from trembling. Mostly. He stands and storms over to you, a sword appearing in his hand as he approaches. You release the door and pull out your favoured sickles. If it’s a fight he wants, you won’t deny him that.

“Do you not get that you will fucking _starve to death_?” he snaps, brandishing the half blade. “I am not going to lose anyone on this trip, okay? So you are going to drink my blood, or I am going to go get Kanaya, and we’ll figure out who you’re willing to take some goddamn help from.”

“I don’t need your fucking help, you asshole.” you snarl, ready to defend yourself if he starts swinging. “I’ll be fine. In fact, you **getting out of my block** would help me feel a whole load better.”

“I’m not gonna let you starve yourself, bro.” he says firmly, and you realize that Dave Strider is being really, truly, serious. Either that, or he’s pulling his “so much irony it’s sincere” schtick, which is lame as hell and a complete cop-out, but you’re getting distracted by semantics.

“Well I don’t want your goddamn mutant blood.” you snap, pressing the blunt side of your blade to his neck as he gets too close. “Leave, Strider. Now.”

“No.” he grins, suddenly smug, and you irritatedly flick your wrist without thinking.

Shit.

The tip of your scythe, which only barely scratched your lusus’s shell when you pulled the same trick on him, nicks Dave just to the side of his jugular vein. The wound is shallow, barely a scratch, and still the scent of his blood hits you like a sucker punch. You take quick, shallow breaths through your mouth, but it doesn’t help. He smiles and tilts his head away from you, offering the leaking puncture as if so small a nick could possibly be fed on. You close your eyes, stow your sickles back in your grief deck, force your newly empty hands into fists, and shake your head. “I won’t feed on you, Strider. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m a God Tier, you asshole.” he shoots back, as easily as if you were about to start griefing over the last bottle of juice.

“And I’m a Rainbow Drinker.” you slip away from the door, trying to clear your head. “You know what Drinkers do, Dave? They kill people. They were hunted to extinction on Alternia because when a Drinker starts to feed, they don’t stop until their prey is **dead**.”

“Again, God Tier.” he corners you, and your stomach growls at the smell of his blood. “Even if you kill me, I’ll just come back.”

“Not if-”

“Karkat.” he disarms himself, broken blade vanishing into his strife deck, and grabs your hands. His skin is barely warmer than yours, emanating the same unnatural heat which accompanies the mutant blood you share. The blood which has almost stopped dripping down his neck, brilliant red on his pinkish alien skin. “You can’t kill me.” his heartbeat is quick, thundering in your ears as he pulls you into a hug. One hand ends up between your shoulder blades, the other in your hair, and he tucks your head into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“I’ll hurt you.” you breathe, trying not to bite down on the already punctured skin.

“But you can’t kill me, dumbass.” he runs his fingers up through your hair, and you shiver. “I trust you, bro. Just go ahead and feed.”

Well, when he puts it like that… You sink your fangs into his carotid artery, and it’s like biting into every good thing you’ve ever had all at once. Your arms come up and rest on his back, supporting him, holding him in place so he can’t break free. You’re not even aware you’re sucking until he slumps against you, forcing you to let go or tear his throat out. You very nearly end up with a mouthful of Human flesh, but open your jaw before the tear gets too big. Dave groans weakly against your shoulder, and you haul his ass over to the respite slab. He seems paler than usual, but his heart is still beating. Fortunately, you haven’t killed him by accident. Unfortunately, you’re even hungrier now.


	2. Chapter 2

As a Rainbow Drinker you don’t strictly need to rest, but the steady beat of Dave’s heart lulls you to sleep and when you wake up the sound is still there, Dave is still sleeping peacefully on the other side of the respite slab. Well, not really other side, it’s too narrow for that. You’re sort of awkwardly crammed together, shoulder to shoulder, and you take a moment to be thankful that he doesn’t flail around in his sleep. He looks much better now than he did last night, and your teeth ache at the thought of feeding again so soon, drinking up more of his sweet sweet candy red blood. Maybe just a sip, before he wakes up. You nuzzle his neck, and still when his heartbeat increases. What the fuck are you even doing? You don’t know if he’s ready to be fed on again, you could kill him!

“Mornin’.” he mumbles, and you notice he’s lost his shades during the night. It’s strange to see his irises, as red as your own will surely be in a few sweeps time, and after a moment you realize you’re staring.

“Great, you’re awake.” you snap without thinking, giving him a shove that makes him slide off of the mattress. “Get off of my respite slab, and outta my block.”

“Oh, what, is this some Walk of Shame business?” he grins, and without his shades it lights up his entire face. “Sending a guy off without so much as a good mornin.”

“Fine, how’s this? Good morning, Jackass. Get out of my block before I drop kick you down the hall so hard you end up in next week.”

“Yeah, sure.” he smirks, and you frown in confusion. Without his shades he doesn’t look smug at all, just sorta… happy? You’re not sure what emotions look like on human faces. At least, not on his face.

He reaches up to adjust his shades, and the moment his hand meets skin his face falls. “Dude, gimme back my shades.”

“What? I don’t have them.” you scowl at him.

“Well they didn’t just disappearify, now did they?”

“Fuck if I know.” you bare your teeth, getting up to properly snarl at him. Something crunches under your foot, and you both look down to see a now half-crushed pair of shades. Whoops.

They vanish from under your foot, and Dave’s got his timetables out in under a second. The shades are turned back on their personal timeline by mere seconds, and then they’re back on his face. He adjusts them minutely, then smirks at you. You’re pretty sure this one would be just as irritating without the shades. “Same time tonight?”

“Fuck you, Strider.” you spit, almost reflexively. “I don’t need your goddamn candy blood.”

“Alright. See you next week, then.” he turns on his heel and walks out. You can only stare at the door once he’s left, dumbfounded. He’s not even your Moirail, and he’s willing to risk his life so you can feed?

You sigh and start changing clothes. You’ll never understand Humans.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite knowing full well the dangers of entering a Drinker’s block of your own free will, Dave continues to come over one evening a week. He claims it’s Fridays, but you don’t see why it matters. The second time you feed on him, you both sit down on the bed before starting. The fainting was an unpleasant and highly risky surprise, one you don’t wish to repeat, so you sit behind him and he leans back against your chest.

The third time you manage to keep some awareness of your surroundings, and discover Dave is not one to endure pain silently, though he makes a valiant effort. He lets out the occasional strangled moan, or aborted whine, or stifled gasp. Sometimes you think you hear syllables of your name, or possibly cuss words. Probably cuss words, when you think about it. You don’t have a particularly good vantage point, but you’re pretty sure he’s blushing horrendously as you feed. Somehow, it’s endearing.

By the fifth time you’ve developed a pattern, almost a ritual of sorts. He arrives and hangs his dumbass cowl and cape on the wall, you get behind him and latch onto his neck until you’re sated. Then he naps on your respite slab until he’s no longer dizzy, and leaves. Simple, clean, no questions asked. You’re sure Rose would do the same if it was Kanaya who’d become a Drinker, though on second thought… No, you really don’t want to think about that.

You’re eighteen perigees into the journey, three since you started drinking Dave’s blood, when you ask about the noises he makes during what you’ve come to call feeding time. You’re lying together on your respite slab after a feeding, and his cheeks immediately go brilliant crimson.

“What noises?”

“Oh come on, Strider. Don’t play dumb.” you prop yourself up on one elbow and run your fingers over the recently sealed puncture wounds on his neck. He flinches, and you gently press on the marks. “Does it really feel good to get your blood drained?‘

He turns on his side, facing you so the bite marks are pressed against the blanket. “None of your damn business.” he snaps, heartbeat speeding up.

“Oh I think it is my business.” you glower at him, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him onto his back so you can grab both and keep him down. He may be taller than you, but you’ve got the upper hand when it comes to grappling like this. “You’re my blood source, what happens to you when I’m feeding is entirely my business.”

“It’s really not.” he blushes brighter, but can’t wriggle out of your hold.

“What does it feel like when I drink from you?” you ask, looking him in the eyes. Or at least, where you’re pretty sure his eyes are. Damn shades make it impossible to really tell.

He goes as red as you’ve ever seen a human go, and you smirk down at him. “Oh, it feels good?”

He says nothing, but the slight turn of his head is all you need.

“You like it.” you grin, leaning down to scrape your teeth over the heavily marked skin of the right side of his neck. He moans, heart rate jacking up as high as you’ve ever heard it, and you smile against his racing pulse. “Do you want me to feed on you again?” you murmur into his neck, nuzzling the place where it meets his lightly freckled shoulders. Some time ago, you realized the smell of him just after feeding is intoxicating. Your head is spinning now, and when he moans a yes you latch on without curling up behind him first.

He keeps his legs tight together as you both shift to the middle of the bed, and as you straddle him to get a better angle you understand why. He’s not pale for you like you’d suspected. He’s flushed. Well, that makes things less awkward, and that’s probably why his blood tastes so sweet. You pull away, eliciting a whine, and press your lips to his. That stops his whining pretty quick, and you grind down on his erection. He moans, definitely your name, and when you nip at his neck he bucks his hips against yours.

You get your fingers under his God Tier shirt, and his whine is enough to spur you on. The shirt is discarded, and when you scrape your fangs along his collarbone he keens like nothing you’ve ever heard, lifting his hips against yours before going completely still. His heart begins to slow, and as you curl up next to him you wonder what his blood must taste like right now. You suppose you’ll just have to find out next week.


	4. Chapter 4

“So, we’re not gonna talk about it?”

“Strider, there’s literally nothing to talk about.” you glower at him across the table. “You’re flushed for me, and have been for a while.”

“Uh, no?” he screws up his face, and you suddenly want to reach over across the table and steal his glasses. “Like, yeah I was worried for you, because tall Maryam said if you didn’t feed you’d, y’know, _die_ , but it didn’t start out gay. I mean, yeah, once I realized how great it felt, that might’ve been kinda homo, but it wasn’t like that the first few times.”

You roll your eyes at the word ‘homo’, which both alien Dersites attempted to explain to you at one point and you now regard as a thoroughly stupid Human adjective. “Dave, you can’t lie to me. I could taste the flush in your blood.” you take a sip of your juice and raise an eyebrow at him. “So, you wanna do this whole Matesprit thing?”

“Uh, what?”

“Matesprits. You and me, in the red quadrant.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that bit but _what_?”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “I am proposing, Strider, that we act on our somewhat mutual feelings of red attraction. You’re pretty obviously flushed for me, that’s clear by your blood. I don’t hate you as much as everyone else, so I wouldn’t mind having a red thing with you.”

Dave gives you a look which is almost entirely indecipherable beneath the shades, and you take a bite of one of the uncooked oinkbeast strips on your nutrition plateau. Dave may call you weird for eating them with a fork, but you like to keep your hands clean when you’re eating.

“So, if I say yes, we get to do stuff like last night again?”

You nod. “Red hookups aren’t really my style, y’know? Black, eh, maybe, but that’s different.”

Dave smirks, and you wonder if his eyes are doing the same odd soft thing they did after the first time you fed on him. “Alright, then. Can’t promise I’ll be any good as a Matesprit, but whatever.”

“Eh, you’ll be fine.” you wave your hand dismissively, forgetting there’s an oinkbeast stip on the end of your fork. It goes flying, and hits the thermal hull with a dull thwack. Dave chuckles, and you get up with a sigh to toss it in the trash. You’ve read enough of Kanaya’s Drinker romance novels to know what you’re doing is stupid and dangerous and back home it would be liable to get you both culled as opposed to just you. But maybe here, on this Meteor, with this particular alien, you can make it work.


	5. Chapter 5

The next Friday evening, Dave arrives as usual and leans against the wall next to the door. “So, how’s this gonna work, now that we’re Matesprits or whatever?”

“Depends.” you shrug, crossing your legs. “How far are you comfortable going?”

“Did I ever explain the Bases metaphor to you?” he asks, taking off his cowl and hanging it on the wall.

“No.” you frown, racking your think pan. “Never heard of it.”

“Well, shit.” he chuckles. “Then I guess Third wouldn’t make any sense to you.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t.”

“Uh, hands and mouths, then. And I wouldn’t mind some of what we were doing last week.” he shuffles his feet awkwardly as he says it, and you nod.

“Alright. C’mere.” you shift so your legs are spread out in front of you, and he sits between them without question. You’ve been feeding on him for nearly a perigee now, he knows how it works. When he’s settled you raise your knees and wrap your arms around his torso, trapping him. You know it’s redundant, that he won’t attempt to run, but the position is so familiar you do it anyways. He stiffens when you reach up to his face, and when you go for the shades he grabs your wrist.

“No. The shades stay on.”

“I like your eyes.” you say quietly, and his grip loosens. For some reason, he listens best when you’re deliberately calm. You’re not sure if it’s a Strider thing, or some Drinker power you’re using unconsciously. He sits stock still as you remove the tinted lenses, and remains that way until you turn his head to give him a kiss. “You better get used to looking at red eyes, asshole.” you murmur against his neck. “I’m gonna have ‘em sooner or later, and there’s no way in hell I'm wearing douchebag shades like you.”

“Not even if they match mine?” he chuckles.

“ **Especially** not if they match.” you grumble.

“What, you don’t want a face computer?”

“Just shut up.” you grin, turning his head to face forward. He relaxes as you lick his neck, and you bite down gently. Your hands trace his torso as he moans, and you bring your left one up under his shirt. He’s got some pretty well-defined muscles hidden under his God Tier pajamas, and you flatten your palm over his heart. Your right goes further down, and he moans your name when you cup him through the fabric of his pants.

He presses back against you, grinding, and you can’t help but sigh a little into his neck. You release him when you’re not even halfway over, and turn him around to face you. Both your shirts are thrown aside, and you latch back onto the leaking puncture marks. His blood is sweeter than ever, intoxicating even, and you’re on cloud nine before he even starts rutting against you. You release his neck again and push him down, taking a moment to shimmy out of your jeans. If you end up coming, you don’t want to stain anything that could actually raise questions.

Dave sheds his God Tier pants as well, and when you go back to his neck you latch right back onto the open wound. He cries out your name when he comes, before you’ve even finished feeding, and for a moment his blood is the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted. You finish and lick the wound shut, and take a moment to look at your Matesprit. The ruddy blush is fading from his skin, and when he looks at you his eyes have only the barest rim of red around the edges. He must have bitten his lips to quiet himself during feeding, because they’re shiny and damp and a little bit swollen. You kiss him gently, and the pair of you shuffle around until you’re facing each other on your sides.

“You liked that?” you breathe, unwilling to break the quiet which has fallen over your respite block.

“Hell yeah.” he grins, and the way it lights up his whole face makes you wonder if maybe you two could really be Matesprits beyond this situation.

“Your lips okay?” you run your fingers over them, and he shrugs lazily.

“Happens all the time. Nothing but bad habits up in here.”

You roll your eyes and kiss him slowly, fixing him with a firm glare once you pull away. “You don’t have to be so quiet next time.”

“No promises.”

You sigh and snuggle closer to him, resting your head against his chest and letting him run his fingers through your hair. He carefully avoids your horns, and you wonder drowsily if he’s apprehensive about touching them, or if someone explained to him why you don’t touch a troll’s horns. You drift off before he stops petting you, and resolve to ask him sometime.


	6. Chapter 6

You collapse into one of the many chairs at the culinary block table with a groan, and slump forward onto the smooth wood surface. It’s done. The game is over, and done, and you don’t want to think or move for about ten billion sweeps. Dave sits next to you, head hanging back, God Tier pajamas still ripped and burnt from the final blow English hit him with. You’re still stunned that Vriska had enough Luck leftover from helping John that she was able to sway his death from Heroic to Mundane, but you won’t question how she managed it. Not now, not ever. Your Matesprit survived the impossible, and you know just enough of miracles to understand that when they fall apart under scrutiny, horrible things happen.

John sets his crazy powerful hammer on the table, flopping into the seat on your other side with a huff, and as everyone files in you sit roughly upright. ‘Roughly upright’ translating to ‘leaning on Dave’s shoulder’. He runs his fingers through your hair, and you just want to fall asleep, but you’re still fucking starving from beating the shit out of the Jacks. There were three for fucks sake. And of course, they were left to you non-God Tiers. Three trolls, three Jacks. You’re not sure what happened to the weird white winged Jack knockoff, but thanks to her, three of your four friends are still alive. Gamzee… You shudder, and Dave rests his cheek on your forehead.

You watched Gamzee burn to a crisp in lava, and you’re still not sure if you’re happy about it or not. He was an asshole, he killed Nepeta and Equius and hid everyone’s bodies so you couldn’t give them any sort of send-off. He was a horrible Moirail and an even worse kismesis, he nearly pushed you into making some horrible decisions, but despite all that you did care for him. And as fucked up as it is, you already miss the big oaf.

Dave pushes you upright, and you grumble as he stands and fetches food. You’re pretty sure there’s some time travel involved, but you don’t ask questions when large nutrition plateus of fresh hot food are placed on the table. Eggs, oinkbeast strips, a stack of pancakes that probably weighs as much as you do if not more. Pitchers of juice appear literally out of nowhere, and the blue-robed Lalonde grins happily as she pours herself a glass of something that looks an awful lot like thinned blood. You lift your head as Dave sits down again, and accept the pack of uncooked oinkbeast strips without a word. You scarf the meat down in record time, ignoring the silverware, and stand with a yawn.

“Good fucking morning, everybody. I’ll see you at dinner.” you grumble, and stalk off. This place the post-boss portal took you is strangely familiar, though you’ve never seen anything like it, and you hit a random door open panel in the hall with more force than is strictly necessary. Inside is a respite block you don’t recognize, but it doesn’t seem to belong to anybody so you kick off your shoes and flop on the respite slab. Dave is good at figuring out where you are, despite not having a Drinker’s sense of smell, and after a short while you hear his heartbeat and footsteps coming down the hall. He stops at the door, and you smile into the pillow as his scent seeps into the room. The door opens, and you wait until he’s lying next to you to open your mouth.

“I’m hungry.”

“Dude, I just came back from the dead. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m **hungryyy**.” you whine, glaring at him blearily. “C’mon, just a little bit?”

Your Matesprit sighs and flickers, but his clothes don’t change. “Stupid fucking-” he grabs the bottom of his burnt cowl and yanks, ripping it cleanly up the front. “Just a sip, Karkat.” he warns, and you prop yourself up against the headboard.

He settles into your arms without complaint, and you make a fresh puncture amid the dozens of identical scars which litter the right side of his neck. There’s magic in his veins tonight, heady and rejuvenating, but long before you’re even close to sated he puts a hand on your face and shoves.

“Can we just, y’know, sleep?”

Your body is humming now, the magic which brought him back to life racing through your system and tingling away the worst wounds. You’re not tired at all, but you slide down until you’re horizontal and turn so the both of you are lying on your sides. Dave scoots down, and you tuck his head under your chin. He’s asleep in moments, but you lie awake for a good while longer. He’s alive. For a few moments you were so sure you’d lost him for good, that the single person who had actively worked with you to manage your Drinker needs was gone. But now he’s okay again, the only scars on his skin are the ones you left, and you will never let him so near death again.

Eventually the magic burns itself out, and you nod off into blissfully dreamless sleep.

\---

You’re roused from your dozing when Dave shifts, grumbling something about time, and as he yawns you press a kiss to the unblemished side of his neck.

“Morning, Dave.” you murmur, dragging your fangs across his neck.

“No.” he grunts, grabbing a pillow and whapping you on the ear.

“Still tired?” you frown, shifting so you’re sitting up over him and brushing the hair out of his face.

“S’not mornin.” he grumbles, and you chuckle.

“Guess not.”

He rolls onto his back, and you kiss him gently. “Can I feed now?” you breathe, fangs aching even as you say the words.

“Dude, it’s only Tuesday.” he squints at you, and you consciously dial down the brightness of your skin.

“I almost died yesterday, I think I deserve a snack.” you pout.

“I died and came back yesterday.” he grumbles, turning over so his back is to you again. “I’m still pretty much dead on my feet.”

“I’ll let you top.” you offer, stomach grumbling.

“No.”

You scowl and stick your tongue out at the back of his head before lying down and curling up against him again. “Fine. But don’t be surprised if you pass out on Friday.”

“I’ll live.” he says dryly, and you press a kiss to the unblemished half of his neck again.

“Don’t ever change, Dave.” you mumble into his back.

The hand holding yours squeezes briefly, and you drift off warm and happy.


End file.
